


Second Light

by highground



Series: The Desert and the Stars [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: #hermitlyfe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Flashbacks, Gen, Tatooine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-28 14:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15709386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highground/pseuds/highground
Summary: In the wake of Order 66, Ahsoka seeks out a friend on Tatooine.





	1. Chapter 1

Booted feet left prints in the sand, only to be swept away near-instantaneously by strong, cold winds. In the dim moonlight, the minuscule particles shone ever so slightly, glittering like stars, like constellations, flickering, beautiful.

Ahsoka could feel them, each individual grain a tiny presence in the Force, all unique and yet part of a greater whole. Unified, yet alive.

For near to five hours she had been walking, trekking through the sand, quiet and careful. Slow, cautious, sure to avoid any signs of fearsome wildlife or bloodthirsty Tuskens. Her destination was clear in the Force, and it was the Force which guided her; there was no telling its location on a map, but deep in her heart, in her soul, even, she knew where she was headed, and nothing could divert her path.

The cloak wrapped around her slight frame did little to stave off the cold whipping of the winds, but the singular goal in her mind cleared her head, drove her unrelentingly forward, onward to where she knew she would find closure.

...

He was asleep when she arrived in the small, decrepit hut, sprawled on a thin mattress, cloak thrown over his body. Even in the darkness, she could see the circles under his eyes, the unnatural paleness of his skin. Placing down the pack holding her meager belongings, she knelt beside him.

He stirred in his sleep, muttering, and she gently touched a knuckle to his cheek, letting the barest hint of warm, healing Force energy sink into his tired skin.

Settling herself down, Ahsoka slipped into meditation.

...

He awoke some hours later, and didn’t acknowledge her presence until she emerged from her trance. She heard his movement and sat, solid and silent, until he was standing before her.

In the daylight sneaking through the hut’s few windows, Master Kenobi looked worse than he had in sleep. Gaunt and pallid, blue eyes carrying a deep-seated pain. His hair was unkempt, like his robes and tunics, and already she could see the signs of desert life taking a toll on his body. Even after barely two months of life on Tatooine, he seemed thinner, drawn, nearly ghostlike.

She doubted she looked much better.

“Master,” she said, bowing her head.

“Not anymore.”

The dullness of his voice brought a sickly lump to her throat, tears she would not, could not shed.

“There’s water at the table,” he continued quietly. “It’s not exactly cold, but it should do.”

Ahsoka nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She stood gracefully, and followed Master Kenobi to the small, splintering table. She sat at a wooden stool as he poured water from a pitcher to an earthenware cup and offered it to her. She accepted and sat nursing it as he settled down across from her.

Both were silent. When Master Kenobi had finished drinking, he stood, bringing his cup to the stone counter before stepping outside. Ahsoka stared into her water, watching as her haggard reflection warped and rippled within.

...

She came upon him sitting in the sand, eyes closed as the wind tossed his hair. Hands resting on his knees, he seemed the picture of Jedi serenity.

Ahsoka silently lowered herself across from him, crossing her legs, but she didn’t meditate as he did, choosing instead to watch him, to study the changes in him since last they had met. Gently, delicately, she reached out with the Force, prodding at his shields until he let her in. There was grief there, grief and pain and regret, but throughout it all an undercurrent of peace, of tranquility.

Her eyes closed, but she remained lucid, listening to the deep breaths he drew in. They remained until midday, when Master Kenobi stood, trekking back to his hut as Ahsoka followed.

Inside, he had begun to prepare a simple meal of slices of some native tuber and thick, pale green legumes. He served it silently, and poured two cups of blue milk. She recognized them as the same two cups from earlier, chipped and sun-faded.

“Water is scarce,” he said.

“I know.”

They ate in silence.

...

Evening came, then night, and he offered her his meager bed.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said, gathering up his cloak. He had stripped to his leggings and undershirt, last vestiges of his life as a Jedi, and as she watched he wrapped the dark fabric around himself and sat on the floor beneath a window, making to lay down.

“No,” Ahsoka said. “I will.”

He shifted so his arm cushioned his head, not speaking, allowing no further argument. Ahsoka glanced at him, then back at the mattress. Reluctantly, she climbed in.

It was a far cry from her bed at the temple, but after months on the run its slight give felt heavenly. She sighed, stretching, and turned to face the wall, listening to his quiet breathing. She didn’t sleep until the twin suns had risen above the horizon, dawn’s light slowly trickling in.

...

The first time they talked, really _talked_ , was an afternoon three or four days into Ahsoka’s stay.

Master Kenobi’s meager food stores had proven to be inadequate in feeding two healthy adult beings, and so he had headed out to the markets of Mos Eisley to stock up on the hearty vegetables that had become staples in both of their diets, as well as a minimal amount of precious water and substantially more blue milk. Early in the morning, he had headed out, to return several hours later with his quarry.

Ahsoka was sat outside when he arrived, taking comfort in the shadow cast by the eastern wall of his home. Her hood was drawn up, hands placed in her lap, and when his landspeeder drew up outside the hut she stood to greet him.

“You should have let me come with you,” was the first thing she said as she took a sack of tubers from him, followed by two jugs of blue milk, which she balanced carefully against her chest.

He smiled wryly at that. “I’ve drawn enough suspicion as it is.”

“Still,” she said. “I could’ve helped you out, if there was trouble. That place isn’t safe—you said it yourself. If something happened—“

“I am hardly a youngling in need of protection,” he said, not unkindly. “While your concern is touching, there are certain risks I must take on my own. Such as grocery shopping.”

Ahsoka’s lips twisted, unsatisfied with his indifference to her concern. They had reached the entrance to the hut, and, climbing down to the cellar, both of them set to stocking the cabinets.

A moment’s silence passed, before Ahsoka sighed shakily, fingers brushing the wall.

“I thought you were dead, Master.”

He did not respond, but she felt the tension that engulfed his presence, alongside a sudden surge of sorrow.

“I was so afraid, Master.” Her voice was a whisper as she turned to face him, and she saw something in his eyes break.

“I know.” He turned away from her, crossing his arms tight against his chest. Breathing deeply, he centered himself.

When he spoke again, it was almost too quiet to hear.

“Sometimes, I wish they’d find me. I wish they’d find me, and I wish they’d put an end to me there and then.”

Ahsoka’s blood turned to ice.

He turned back to her, and his eyes were haunted.

“I see him, in my dreams. Taunting me. I was too weak, too soft. And the galaxy has paid the price.”

“You see who, Master?”

He glanced away, arms wrapping tighter around himself. It was an impossibly vulnerable action, and she found it difficult to reconcile the broken man before her with the powerful, confident Jedi Master she’d known for three years and yet a lifetime.

“Anakin.”

Her mouth went dry, and she shook her head. “I don’t get it. Why—”

“That’s enough,” he said, to himself or to her, she couldn’t say. With strained formality, he nodded to her. “Help yourself to whatever provisions you need. I’ll be outside, and I kindly ask not to be disturbed.”

“Why Anakin? What—”

He was gone too fast. She stood back, feeling tears wet her eyes.

When she sensed him leaving the hut, Ahsoka sank to the ground, feeling lost, feeling numb. The tears fell freely, now, and as she stared ahead at the sandstone wall, she found she had no desire to stop them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we begin an epic tale of friendship, sand, and tears. This is the first time I’ve actually published a fanfic, so (fingers crosses) I hope it’s at least adequate. Not much time until college rears its ugly head, but I will plan on updating just about every other week. Thank you for reading this far, and I can’t wait to share this adventure with you!


	2. Chapter 2

Ahsoka sat at the table, a mug of blue milk in front of her. The tears had long since dried up, and she’d pushed herself up off the floor, unwilling to wallow in her misery. There was no time to feel sorry for herself, or to dwell on what Master Kenobi had said.

She couldn’t meditate on it, either. Her heart would break if she tried to analyze what he had told her and what he had not—even in the impartial presence of the Force alone.

He didn’t come back in until the sun had begun to set. When finally he stepped inside, locking out the sand and the chilly night air, he was wrapped in his cloak, the hood pulled over his head. As he pulled it down he took the seat across from her, and for a moment he sat, silently regarding his own calloused fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last.

She stared at him with dull eyes, hands clasped on the table. He watched her in return, his own eyes shadowed.

“I wish you didn’t have to find out this way,” he continued. “From someone as curt and uncaring as I can be. Gods, don’t I know it. No bedside manner.” He laughed, a dull, barren sound. “I didn’t conduct myself quite as well as I’d wished, and you don’t need any more undeserved pain.”

“I shouldn’t have hoped he’d get out unscathed,” she said, and sighed  “I feel like I’ve lost everyone. First Barriss, then the clones, and now—now Anakin.”

And her heart ached for every one of them, the betrayals just as much of the losses of innocent life, her mentors and teachers brutally struck down. And there was more, she thought, something he wasn’t telling her. Something unbearable. But she had no desire to pry.

He nodded, then looked away. His fingers clenched and unclenched, nails scraping the table.

“What happened to you?” Her voice was gentler this time, lowered with sympathy. “You’re like a ghost, Master. Where did all your life go?”

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” he said quietly, then sighed. She reached a hand out to take his, and he looked at her, blue eyes remarkably clear. “And I’m sorry for—for everything.”

“Why?” she asked. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

He smiled, brittle and sad. “I didn’t do enough. I was too complacent, too content with my perception of the Council’s wisdom to offer you help you when you need it the most.”

“I’ve already forgiven you,” she said gently.

His fingers tightened around hers. “You won’t forgive me for long.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, and then, temper rising, “Stop being so cryptic, Master. If you have something to say, then—then spit it out.”

She hadn’t meant to snap, but he seemed unaffected, watching her coolly. “I have nothing to say. Not now, anyway.”

She breathed out deeply, rubbing his knuckle with her thumb. “I know. I’m sorry, Master.”

They were silent for a while, connected by their interlinked hands. Ahsoka savored the warmth of his skin, despite the worrying boniness of his fingers.

“I miss him,” she said quietly, when the night had well and truly fallen.

“So do I. More than I can stand.” He swallowed. “You deserve to know the truth, Ahsoka, or at least, what I know of the truth. I’m not so sure of anything these days.”

“Maybe,” she said. “If it’s what you want, Master.”

“Don’t call me that,” he said. “I’m a master no longer.”

He stood, then, and headed down to the cellar, leaving her to her thoughts for a few minutes. She listened to the wind against the walls, breathed in the still air. Hummed, softly, as she felt anticipation well up inside of her.

When he returned, he carried with him a fat glass bottle and two glasses, which he set down in the center of the table. Reassuming his position across from her, he cracked the top off of the bottle and poured out two glasses, near full to the brim. Probably not a civilized way of drinking the...whatever it was, but there was no one there to see.

Ahsoka took the glass offered to her, and hesitantly took a sip. It tasted bland, doubtless not its intention; as a Togruta, her tastebuds weren’t as well adapted to plant-based matter as Obi-Wan’s would be. But gods knew it was better than more blue milk.

“What is this?” she asked, looking up to find him watching her, bemused.

“Thrice-distilled Dantooine whisky,” he said. “Vile stuff, though it seems a bit wasted on you.”

“Huh,” she said. There was a definite kick there, a warm feeling that pooled in her stomach and spread through her limbs, but despite her size, she knew she wouldn’t be nearly as affected as him from the same amount of alcohol. It was an advantage of her species, but one she had rarely found use for—until now, of course.

It would be easy to drink and then sleep, forgetting the day’s worries, awaken the next day for more pained, wooden conversation alongside a new throbbing bundle of guilt and sadness in her chest. But seeing Obi-Wan in despair—something she’d never suspected was possible—wasn’t something she could watch and ignore.

“Tell me about Qui-Gon,” she said.

He startled, staring at her. “Why?”

“He meant a lot to you,” she said, “and I know you’re in pain. Maybe talking about something important to you can help.”

And distract both of them from thoughts of Anakin; she didn’t say it, but they both knew it.

Obi-Wan sat back, crossing his arms and looking up at the ceiling.

“I almost wasn’t a Jedi,” he said softly. “He didn’t want me at first.”

“ _What_?” Ahsoka all but leapt forward, hands gripping the table hard. “But you’re so—so—”

He smiled wryly. “I was difficult as a child. Very difficult. I was angry. Too angry, and I paid dearly for it.”

She was silent, returning to her whisky.

And so he began the tale of his childhood: the fights, the anger, the fear, and the desperation; the joy, the pride, and the bonds he shared with his friends and his master.

“Qui-Gon and I had our difficulties, but he was the best master I could have had. I was devastated when I lost him, all those years ago on Naboo.”

“What happened?” she asked, prying yet kind.

“The Sith took his life,” he replied simply, “and I took his.”

A deep breath. He took a long swig of whisky and looked back at her, eyes unfocused. “He was like a father to me. I see him in my dreams—not always, but here, on Tatooine. I like to think he’s watching me. Protecting me.” He shook his head. “It sounds silly.”

“It doesn’t,” she said. “He must have been a great Jedi. A great person.”

“He would have liked you,” he said, a small smile curving his lips. “He was never fond of the Council. I can’t imagine how he would have reacted to my taking a seat on it.”

She looked down at her drink for a moment, before turning back up to him. “I met him once.” At his surprised look, she smiled and elaborated. “When I was coming to the Temple from Shili, there was a malfunction with the ship. We had an emergency landing, and he was one of the Jedi who bailed us out. I’ll always remember how tall he was. He went for miles.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “He did indeed. Even when I was grown, he was like a giant.”

“I don’t remember all that much. I was three, and most of what I know I got from Master Plo. But I remember nearly falling asleep, and waking up to another Jedi carrying me back to the ship.”

He looked at her in shock. “That was you? The Togruta youngling?”

Her eyes widened. “Wait, really? You were there?”

He rubbed a hand over his face, hiding a grin. “I remember now. You kept chewing on my braid.”

She couldn’t stop a burst of laughter. “That’s amazing. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you, all those years later. You really had a gift for dealing with kids. I remember you holding me on the flight back.” She shook her head fondly. “I had no idea you and Qui-Gon were together. I didn’t really have a concept of masters and Padawans then.”

“Younglings always shine the brightest in the Force.” And the smile was gone. “Gods....”

“What is it?”

“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.“ A shaky sigh. “All of the little ones. Gone.”

“Don’t think about it,” she said gently, reaching to touch his arm. “It’s done. There’s nothing you can do about it now.”

“I know.”

He drained the rest of his whisky and then lifted the bottle, making to pour more before evidently thinking better of it.

“I’m beginning to wonder if that stuff is poison,” Ahsoka commented. “Your eyes are all red.”

He groaned. “I’m not going to have a good morning. This was a bad idea.”

She smiled, a bit sweet, a bit sad. “I’m glad we could talk, Mast—Obi-Wan. We never really did, back during the war.”

“If only the galaxy didn’t have to fall apart,” he murmured. “You’re a wonderful girl, Ahsoka. A gift to the Order and the galaxy. We—” He hiccuped. “We were fools to lose you.”

“You’re drunk,” she said, not without fondness. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

He stumbled after her as she led him to the small bed he had refused for the past few nights. Helped him down and threw his cloak over him.

She watched him for a moment, then stepped outside, content to stay out for a while and watch the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit less sad this time around :) let me know what you think! College is starting soon, but chapter three is well underway so expect prompt updates for now. 
> 
> Next chapter: the pace picks up.


	3. Chapter 3

In the following days, their morning routine changed to suit the new openness between them. Each awakening soon after dawn, they breakfasted on hearty, sand-grown fruits and tough, dry greens, and though their conversation was still stilted, there was relief in a new sense of honesty. One would do the washing up while the other cleaned the table and swept away the sand that crept in during the night. Afternoons were spent practicing katas or meditating, and evenings passed comfortably, with the sort of easy warmth they hadn’t quite had during their days in the Order.

It was nice.

But all too soon, their little oasis was sundered.

It was the dead of night when Ahsoka awoke to the sound of commotion outside, of blasters and yelling and inhuman shrieks of pain and anger. She bolted upright, heart pounding, and glanced over at the far wall to see Obi-Wan awake as well, already making to stand.

When he pulled a blaster pistol from a small sack, Ahsoka couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.Sensing her incredulity, he offered a small smile. “My weapon of choice isn’t exactly welcome anymore.”

As she got up, he tossed one to her as well.

“What is that?” she asked, accepting it and examining the worn casing.

“That? That’s a blaster, Ahsoka.”

“No,” she said, amiably rolling her eyes. “Outside.”

All traces of warmth vanished from his face. “Tuskens.”

...

They donned their cloaks and crept outside, catching sight of the tableau several hundred meters away. There were flashes of blaster fire, the sounds of human pain and the eerie noises from before. The combatants were a mix of men and women in plain clothes and bizarre, cloth-wrapped creatures with masks that lent a frightening aura to their already looming frames.

Obi-Wan cursed quietly. “That’s the direction of the Lars homestead.” A regretful glance at her. “Ahsoka, we’re going in. But be warned: Tusken Raiders show no mercy. You must be prepared to fight for your life.”

“Of course,” she said, swallowing.

“Come, now.” And he led the way down.

...

Blood. Screams. The sound of blaster fire, of crude clubs and spears bludgeoning and penetrating flesh. A battle of mere men against a brutal, unrelenting foe.

They came in hot, firing on the Raiders, dodging blows and kicking, striking, fighting as best they could in close combat without the aid of a lightsaber. Obi-Wan knocked a Raider in the chin with his elbow, and the creature fell to the ground, writhing as he placed a bolt in its leg, incapacitating it. Ahsoka kicked one in the stomach, satisfied when it stumbled backward.

A stocky man in the simple clothes of a farmer fired off a volley of shots, wounding without killing; the protection offered by the creatures’ armor made the latter difficult. When they were down, a younger man swooped in to pick them off with a long, rusty spear.

Shoving a Raider off himself, Obi-Wan leapt backward, firing off several shots, his aim true. Each took a wound in the leg, and they fell, one by one. Ahsoka wrenched a club from the grasp of a fallen Raider, and set to swinging it not unlike how she would wield a saber. This was far more efficient than the blaster had been, although less lethal, and Ahsoka was able to fight her way over to the farmers after a couple minutes of struggling.

There were several of them, armed with worn yet sturdy melee weapons and blasters. When he saw Ahsoka, the stocky man’s eyes narrowed even as he fired at his attackers.

She threw herself into the battle, taking out Tuskens with club and blaster alike. At some point she lost track of Obi-Wan, but she was too occupied to worry about that. Instead, she fought tooth and nail against the fearsome creatures that advanced on her with the intent to kill.

She could not say how much time passed or how much blood spilled when the battle was over. Several farmers laid wounded, but none dead as far as she could see; they were good, she realized. This was a familiar foe. There had not been many Tuskens to begin with, perhaps half as many as the farmers, and despite the evident prowess of the men, Ahsoka distantly thought that the farmers would hardly have stood a chance had there been more. Had she and Obi-Wan not intervened. Her hands resting on her knees as she slumped forward, she stood panting and looking out as the sun began to rise.

The stocky man from before trudged through the sand and over to her, looking her over before speaking. “We don’t see many Togruta around these parts,” he said, voice coming out uneven.

“I’m sure you don’t,” she replied, straightening.

“You got a name?”

“Ashla,” she said quickly. “You?”

“Owen Lars,” he said. “What are you doing in the middle of the desert, Ashla?”

“She’s with me.” Ahsoka looked over to where Obi-Wan had approached, looking worse for wear but not any more ragged than any of the others. His cloak was torn a bit, and his hair was a mess, but he was alive, and not visibly in pain.

“Ben,” Owen Lars said, a hint of apprehension in his voice. “Then I don’t want to know.”

A look passed between them, something Ahsoka couldn’t describe. Suspicion and something else. Something that made her uneasy.

Lars coughed, and blood dripped from his mouth into the sand.

“Kriff!” Ahsoka darted froward before stopping short, unsure if her help would be welcomed. A young woman rushed over, grasping his arm with a shout of, “Owen!”

She supported him as he began to collapse. In the dim light, Ahsoka could see a dark splotch on his shirt, down on his stomach.

“No,” she heard Obi-Wan whisper. When she looked over at him, his face was pale, eyes wide.

“Obi-Wan?”

“Not now,” he said, and then, “damn it. This is bad.”

“Stay with me,” the young woman was saying. A few of the other farmers had come over, one or two shuffling in packs for first aid supplies. Owen Lars looked bloodless, pallid as a corpse, as the woman carefully lowered him to the ground.

“He’s losing blood fast,” Obi-Wan said, crouching down beside him. “He must receive medical attention immediately. Where is the nearest hospital?”

Someone snorted. “Here? In the middle of the desert? There’s not a hospital for at least ten klicks.”

Obi-Wan swore colorfully. “Then we will have to make do.”

The young woman knelt down, stroking Owen’s hair. Her eyes had filled with tears, fingers shaking as she covered her lower face with a hand. Ahsoka wanted to comfort her, but she had no way of knowing how that would be taken; she figured it would be best not to draw any unnecessary attention.

Obi-Wan looked around, at all the farmers and the way they watched Owen with genuine fear in their eyes; fear stronger than that which had fueled the fight. He took a shaky breath and bowed his head.

“I am about to perform a task that requires silence and minimal distractions. I will not tell you to leave your friend’s side. But I request that you allow me the space to tend to him with care.”

“What are you doing?” Ahsoka said hesitantly. “Ob—Ben?”

He looked at her with regret in his eyes, a silent plea for forgiveness, and she realized what was happening.

Force Healing, while not strictly a standard skill for Force sensitives, was nonetheless highly encouraged in Jedi training curriculums, and most Masters had at least a workable knowledge of the mechanics and process. Ahsoka herself had never been good at it, but Obi-Wan had twenty years on her. She had seen him use it on occasion, when a mission went badly and a Jedi or clone was gravely injured, but to use it now carried an inescapable risk of blowing their cover.

And yet, for some reason, Obi-Wan valued Owen Lars’s life over his secrecy.

“Why should we trust you?” cut in one of the farmers. “You show up, you fire off a blaster a few times, and—what, we’re supposed to let you do some voodoo trick on Lars?”

“I agree,” a red-haired woman said. “I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all.”

The young woman stood from where she had knelt with Owen Lars. “No,” she said. “We can trust him. I know him.”

“Do you, Beru? And do you know just what the hell he’s trying to do?”

“Yes,” she said with conviction, and then looked at Obi-Wan with warmth in her eyes. “He’s family.”

Ahsoka wanted desperately to ask Obi-Wan what exactly was going on, but she knew that it would be better to stay quiet for now. Even so, she was quickly the center of attention once more when a farmer pointed at her. “She family too?” he said, earning a few laughs.

“Quiet, Jory, he’s concentrating,” Beru hissed. Indeed, Obi-Wan’s eyes had closed as he slipped into a trance, hands laid on Owen’s chest.

The farmers’ eyes didn’t leave Ahsoka, however, and she found herself distinctly uncomfortable.

“Let’s leave him to do what he must,” the redheaded woman said, a frown glued to her face. She began to walk away with all but Beru, then stopped short when she realized Ahsoka wasn’t following.

“You too,” she snapped.

A glance at Beru, who sat beside Owen now, face remarkably placid yet eyes rimmed with red, was all it took to convince Ahsoka to step away. Full of trepidation, she followed the farmers, leaving Obi-Wan to carry out his miracle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written in broad daylight, which is unusual for me, to say the least. 
> 
> Like it? Hate it? Think I should win the Pulitzer? Think I should stop writing? Comment! (Just don’t make me cry.)


End file.
